


Call me when you need me

by lemon_meringue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, canon kind of happened but Not Like That and is basically irrelevant, everyone is alive and lives in the tower because i said so, ft. Peter's many undiagnosed kinks, no officer i've never seen a beta before in my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_meringue/pseuds/lemon_meringue
Summary: Steve tells Peter to call him whenever he needs him.It takes a little while of actually getting to know the man who haunts his wet dreams, but one night while Steve is away and the younger Avenger is alone in his bed—Peter takes him up on that offer.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Steve Rogers
Comments: 37
Kudos: 294





	Call me when you need me

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant for a kinktober event but uh… better late than never? As per usual this fic has seen one (1) proofread so pls spare me
> 
> *follow-up fic coming in a hot minute

Peter doesn’t know who else to call. 

He thought he could _handle_ it. He thought his skillset could cover this easily, because it _has_ , multiple times in the past. He’s successfully done this before on numerous occasions and without soliciting any assistance. He was wholly unprepared to be outmatched.

Yet here he is, seriously outmatched, and he doesn’t know what else to do. He can’t do it himself, no one else is able to help, and he’s out of options. 

So he pulls out his cellphone (the Stark tech one that Tony designed for him, not the one he built from scraps as a teenager), scrolls through his contacts, and clicks on the name of the only person he has left—the only one who might stand a chance. 

Steve Rogers answers on the third ring. 

“Peter?” 

“Mr. Rogers, I need your help.”

“What? What’s going on?” The man instantly sounds alert. 

“It’s an emergency.”

“Peter, what’s happening?” 

“It’s Mr. Stark.”

A sharp breath. “What happened to Tony?”

“He’s-” Peter takes a moment to compose himself. It doesn’t work. “He’s still in the fucking lab and he won’t come out.”

He waits a beat but Mr. Rogers doesn’t immediately respond, so Peter continues. “I swear to god, Cap. He’s been in there for sixty hours. Sixty. That’s like- he’s been in the lab working for almost three days! Three! Days! _Non-stop!_ He hasn’t slept, he’s barely eaten! He’s ridiculous!”

Mr. Rogers is quiet for a few moments. “He’s not hurt or anything, right?” He asks. 

“Not yet he’s not, but if he doesn’t go to bed in the next half hour, he might be. I might attack him. Can you believe the audacity of this guy? The audacity?! _Three days!”_

“Peter, you know I can hear you when you shout about me, right?” Mr. Stark calls from the other side of the workshop, tank-top thoroughly greased and two hands inside the body of his bot, U. Cap must hear him snarking because he lets out an almost-laugh of a breath. 

“Good. I want you to hear me. You should hear how much distress you’ve put me in, Mr. Stark. I am in distress. Major distress. Your fault.” Peter calls back. 

“Peter?” Mr. Rogers says, drawing the younger man’s attention back to him. 

“Right, yeah. Mr. Rogers. Listen, I need your help. I can’t get him to go to bed. Ms. Potts is in Seoul and Colonel Rhodes is in D.C. and both of them called him to yell at him but he isn’t listening. I tried my best and he still won’t leave. Please, Cap. Make him stop.” 

There’s a quiet few seconds before Mr. Rogers sighs, sounding more relieved than anything else, and Peter almost feels bad for being so dramatic about it. Well. Not dramatic about Mr. Stark running himself to an early death, but, he probably could’ve opened the phone call to his fellow Avenger with less life-or-death urgency. 

“I’ll be down in a few minutes. See if the threat of my impending arrival is enough to get him moving before I even get there.”

Peter grins even though the other man can’t see it. “Will do. Thank you.”

“No problem, kid.”

They end the call and Peter pockets his phone. He feels all kinds of uncomfortable things for having to make that call, burdensome and childish taking the lead, but he was seriously out of options. When he first got here and it became apparent that gentle coaxing wasn’t effective, he’d tried to help Mr. Stark finish his work faster so he could just be done. But it would still be hours before U is good to go. And after nearly three days of various non-stop projects, Peter decided that the bot can wait another day so his creator can catch some shut-eye. Peter crosses his arms and turns around to face Mr. Stark again. 

“Did you hear that? Mr. Rogers is on his way down, now. Sir, Captain America is going to come drag you to bed. That’s how grim this situation is.”

“Captain America can kiss my ass, Mr. Parker. I keep telling you I’ll leave when I’m done, okay? And I will. I’ll take a shower and eat some lettuce or whatever and go right to bed _once I’m finished working._ It’ll just be a few more minutes.” Mr. Stark replies. He removes one hand from fiddling with a circuit board and grabs a screwdriver, eyes never leaving the bot. 

“Uh-huh. That’s what you said _yesterday,_ Mr. Stark.” Peter rolls his eyes.

“In my defense, it looks like _yesterday_ was only a couple hours ago. Besides, I mean it this time. You don’t have to call in the whole cavalry.”

“If you would go to bed like a sane human being I wouldn’t have to.”

Mr. Stark only scoffs at that and it’s clear he doesn’t plan on bantering any more with Peter. That’s fine. Peter doesn’t need to add any more time to the hours he’s already spent arguing with his mentor about healthy habits and workaholism, and Mr. Rogers will arrive in a few minutes to put an end to the three-day tangent, anyways, and then they can _all_ go to bed.

Hopefully.

Instead of pestering Mr. Stark further, Peter opts to give Dum-E attention while he waits. He lets the robot bring him paper scraps, pencils, and random tools for no rhyme or reason other than the ‘good job, buddy’s and ‘thank you’s that Peter responds with until the lab doors are sliding open. Cap comes strolling in. 

“Oh, the cavalry, thank god.” Peter says, loud enough to be sure Mr. Stark hears him. Mr. Rogers gives him a soft look that makes some butterflies flutter in his stomach and he clears his throat. 

“Hey, Tony,” Cap calls across the lab. Dum-E rolls up to him full speed with happy chirps and Steve smiles at the robot. “Hi, pal,” he adds. 

“You really didn’t have to come down, private patriot. Petey’s just being dramatic.” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t spare the time to snatch a clean rag (the one on the floor is thoroughly soiled) and he already has oil up both of his arms, so Peter watches with a groan as he wipes his dirty hands on his own shoulders. 

“I’m not-” Peter begins, but the third man cuts him off. 

“Sure, Tones.” He turns to the younger. “Could you get something for him to eat? We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

The indignant, “No we will not!” that follows goes unacknowledged. Peter nods and stutters out various synonyms for “yes” and shuffles past Mr. Rogers.

“Thank you for this, sir. Good luck,” he offers, earning a grin from the soldier that has him making a beeline for the elevator so he doesn’t have to deal with the butterflies anymore. 

FRIDAY takes him up to Mr. Stark’s personal quarters. Mr. Stark used to live in the penthouse at the top of the tower before the whole Loki thing so many years ago that very nearly took down the building, but since the renovations that made space for other Avengers to live there, his personal floor is between Mr. Rogers and Ms. Romanoff. The many laboratories are located a few levels below the cluster of personal floors.

(Peter’s floor, now that he actually has a _whole floor for himself_ in the tower, is between Sam Wilson’s and the guest level, near the top.)

Mr. Stark’s private workshop is the furthest up of the the labs his various engineers use, and off-limits to pretty much everyone but a handful of Avengers and friends. Peter knows how lucky he is to be allowed in without needing explicitly given permission each time he wants to drop by. 

The elevator doors open and Peter heads for Mr. Stark’s kitchen. With any luck, he can just slip some food into the overworked engineer’s hands as the man passes through on the way to his room and it’ll be eaten before he gets to bed. Peter makes a simple turkey sandwich and fills a glass with water as an afterthought. Then he’s not sure if he should wait there in the kitchen or go back down to the lab, but he doesn’t have to decide, because shortly after the food is made, Mr. Rogers shows up with Mr. Stark in tow.

Peter gapes at him for a second. He spent _how long_ trying to get his mentor out of that lab and Cap made it happen in a couple of minutes flat? 

(Peter must’ve worn him down. Yeah, that’s it.)

He shakes off the shock. “Made you a sandwich,” he says, holding out a plate and the glass of water. Tony heaves a heavy sigh (and he just spent sixty hours in a lab, so that’s fair) and takes them from him, then lifts one arm over Peter’s head and gives him a side hug. Peter leans into it even though the man is getting grease all over his clothes and smells a little like gasoline.

“Thanks. Sorry for worrying you, kiddo.” 

Peter makes eye contact with Mr. Rogers and hums. He keeps his hands ready to catch the plate or glass in case Mr. Stark accidentally drops them. “I’ll forgive you after you shower and go to bed.” 

It earns him a smirk from both men but Mr. Stark is nodding as he does it. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Message received, spider-boy.” He peels away and salutes them both with the hand holding his plate as he walks off towards his bedroom. Peter watches him go and only lets out a sigh of relief once he hears the man’s door close.

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers. I really appreciate it.” He leans against the counter. 

“It’s no problem, Peter.”

“Yeah, but I feel bad about asking you to drop whatever you were doing just because I, surprise surprise, couldn’t get Mr. Stark to take a break.”

Cap runs a hand through his hair ~~Peter kind of wants to run a hand through the blond’s hair, too~~. “You know how he is. Nobody can always get through to him when he’s in the zone like that.” 

“I guess, yeah. But now I have to ask, _how?_ How did you get him to call it quits, and so _fast?”_

Mr. Rogers shrugs with that ridiculous all-American-gold smile on his face. “I have my methods.” 

“Will you please share your methods with the class? I don’t want to resort to calling on you after spending hours trying to coerce him out of there again.” 

“How did that job fall on you, anyways?” 

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “Happy asked me to, sir. _Happy._ Asked _me._ That’s how desperate we were. And I tried, okay, I used my very best puppy eyes and I said please and I tried bribing Mr. Stark and everything. Threatening to cry almost worked but he wouldn’t crack. Either he’s becoming immune to me or I’m not as cute anymore. Regardless, I wasn’t getting anywhere, so. Thank you, again.”

Cap joins him in leaning against the counter to nudge the younger with his shoulder. “I doubt anyone could grow immune to you, Pete. Trust me. Your puppy eyes are still very much cute and persuasive. Tony’s just extra stubborn sometimes, especially about the bots. And you really don’t have to keep thanking me, kid.”

It’s true; Mr. Stark is extremely stubborn when it comes to his bots. Peter steadfastly ignores that Steve said his puppy eyes were cute and responds, “Well, you helped me. And it’s the middle of the night. And I don’t like asking for help, honestly, especially at inconvenient times and for inconvenient tasks, so I’m just gonna keep thanking you until the crippling sense that I’ve burdened you finally fades.”

The unfortunate thing is that Mr. Rogers gets that it’s an exaggerated joke, and Peter knows he does, because the older man doesn’t tell FRIDAY to schedule Peter a therapy appointment on the spot, and he huffs a small, reluctant laugh instead—but he doesn’t let it slide unattended to. He gives Peter that half-sympathy, half-reprimand look that’s _oh so Captain America,_ and puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

(Peter thinks his shoulders never look particularly small until he compares them to a super-soldier’s hand, and wow, does he feel small now.)

“You haven’t burdened me, Peter. If anything, Tony is the burden right now,” he pauses so they can laugh lightly, comfortable laughing because neither actually feel that way about the engineer, “but you’re not a burden to anyone, ever. I’m always happy to help you. Regardless of how inconvenient the task or time is. You know that, right? You can always come to me for anything.”

It’s a lot more heartfelt and supportive than Peter was prepared to handle tonight (this morning?). And he’d much rather deflect and keep it light than confront that, thanks. “Woah, Cap. I don’t think Mr. Stark would appreciate you moving in on his mentor territory as soon as he’s benched, y’know?” ‘Mentor/mentee’ isn’t exactly Peter’s ideal relationship to the soldier, either, but that’s far besides the point. He grins and Mr. Rogers rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He can fight me for you. But I’m serious, kid. Call me anytime you need me. You can call me whenever you want, really.” He ruffles Peter’s hair and leans off the counter, making for the elevator.

“I’m heading back up, I’ll see you tomorrow. G’night, Pete.” FRIDAY opens the doors without him needing to ask. He steps in, but before the doors close again, he calls out. “Oh! By the way, Peter,” he says. 

Peter feels like he might blush realizing that he had watched the older man’s shoulders and ass as he walked away. “Y-Yeah?” Nice, Parker. 

Mr. Rogers grins like he knows exactly what Peter’s thinking ~~even if Peter doesn’t, quite~~. “Call me Steve.”

The younger would sass him but he feels like he owes the man this after helping tonight. He shrugs even though the informal moniker sounds weird in his mouth. “Okay, Steve.”

Cap smiles at that and lets FRIDAY close the elevator doors, taking him back to his floor. 

Peter watches the shut doors for a little while longer, feeling out ‘Steve’ in his head. It’s somehow foreign, even eight years after meeting the man and nearly a year of living in the same building. He realizes he doesn’t actually have a reason to stay in Mr. Stark’s kitchen but feels awkward immediately calling the elevator down again, so he gets a glass of water for himself. 

He is pointedly _not_ thinking about how Cap said his puppy eyes are cute and persuasive, or how he said Mr. Stark could fight him for Peter, or how genuinely he told Peter to call him whenever he wants or needs to. Peter also pointedly does _not_ think about how the man’s hand dwarfed his shoulder, or how his entire body dwarfed Peter’s when they stood side-by-side at the counter, or how his fingers felt messing with Peter’s hair. 

And he especially, specifically does _not_ think about the way the older smiled at him before leaving, like he knows something about Peter that Peter doesn’t. 

Peter doesn’t think about any of those things at all, though he shamelessly appreciates how considerate Cap was about the entire situation, and he lets himself appreciate that consideration because there’s nothing wrong or weird or awkward about being glad someone is nice.

When he’s finished with his water, Peter rides the elevator back up to his floor. It’s an entire level of an entire building with more space than he knows what to do with, and even after living on it for a year, there are still rooms that he just doesn’t use or go into. (And that’s after Mr. Stark reformed a few into a private gym and Peter designated one for Legos and collectibles.)

Laying in his bed later on—nothing but a pair of loose athletic shorts on his body after jerking off with a deliberately faceless, buff blond figure and a soft, low voice, on his mind—and distantly aware that he’ll be waking up near noon if he wants to get more than a couple hours of sleep, Peter thinks about Cap’s request. 

He grabs his phone and changes the man’s contact name to ‘Steve’. Then, before he can overthink it, he favorites the contact, too. Just in case he does make a habit of calling him.

* * *

Peter doesn’t make a habit of calling him.

Despite the two changes in his phone, he doesn’t intend to take the offer seriously.

Steve is cool, yeah, and they’re kind of friends after being on the same team for years—especially with both living in the tower, now that Peter is taking a break from college to figure out how far he wants to go with schooling and how Spider-Man fits into that—but he’s not like Mr. Stark. Peter isn’t totally comfortable annoying Captain America for any reason, let alone just for the fun of it. 

So he changes Steve’s contact name in his phone and when Steve checks on him, asks how things are and reminds him that he can call the other at any time, Peter tells him he will, but he doesn’t. 

A little over a week after teaming up to get Mr. Stark out of the lab, Steve invites Peter to spar with him in one of the tower’s many training gyms. They’re both going easy on each other, more focused on working out the kinks and mishaps in their techniques than practicing life-or-death situation reflexes. Peter’s also a little distracted by how tight of a shirt Steve is wearing.

Too distracted, apparently, because suddenly he’s pinned to the mat, the older man on top of him, holding his wrists down. (Steve could probably fit both of Peter’s wrists and then some in one hand. His forearms and hands look so small compared to Steve’s that if Peter didn’t know his own body, he’d say he looks _breakable.)_

“Got ya.” Steve smirks. Peter huffs. 

“Pure luck, Cap.” 

Steve gives him a jokingly condescending _“mhm”_ and nods, minutely tightening his hold on the younger. Peter knows he could easily get out of it. He kind of doesn’t want to, though. 

“I’m sure,” the older man humors him, letting go and helping Peter back up. They get right back into stance to spar again but now Peter’s head is a little fuzzy from being held down, and all it takes is one carefully executed move and Steve swipes Peter’s legs out from under him, catches his wrists again and pins him a second time.

“That’s- no, okay. You’re just having one hell of a lucky day,” Peter stutters, much to Steve’s obvious amusement. But he can’t find it within himself to be bothered about that when he realizes with no shortage of alarm that he’s getting hard. 

Right there, in the middle of the gym, pinned to the mat by a century-old soldier with absolutely dazzling eyes—Peter’s getting hard. 

He’s really glad they’re alone and prays Steve doesn’t notice. 

It doesn’t _look_ like Steve has noticed Peter’s dick taking interest. It doesn’t look like Steve is paying attention to anything but Peter’s face. He’s staring at Peter’s face, actually, and the younger swears that every second they stay there, nearly touching, with Cap’s body pinning Peter’s to the floor, he’s getting harder.

“You okay, Queens? You seem distracted.” Steve is studying him so intently, Peter thinks he might melt. 

Damn it all; he blushes. 

“I’m just hungry, that’s all.” 

A few long seconds pass and then Steve’s expression softens and he releases the younger’s wrists. “Missed lunch, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe.”

Steve sighs but he’s smiling. He gets up and offers Peter a hand, and Peter tries to hide his half hard dick by fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt and keeping his body angled away from the man. Steve makes to grab a towel to wipe off some sweat and Peter does the same, holding it carefully in front of his waist. 

“I could use a bite, too. Tell you what, grab a shower real quick and I’ll make something to split with you. Sound good?” Steve pushes his hair off his face and jesus, Peter wants to, like, lick his stupidly chiseled jaw or something. 

“Sounds good.”

They take the lift up together. Steve gets off first on his floor, and Peter holds it together for the last few levels, just in case someone else hops on the communal elevator, until he steps out into the privacy of his own quarters and has a hand down his pants before the doors behind him even close.

He wasn’t actually that gross from the training, considering they were taking it easy, but after working up a sweat and coming into his shorts three times, jerking off on his living room floor to the thought of Steve’s hips being mere inches above Peter’s dick while the older man held him down—Peter takes that shower. 

He realizes he might be a little fucked.

* * *

He still doesn’t start calling Steve whenever he wants, though. 

Not for a few more weeks. 

They keep hanging out, more than they used to as casual teammates and… tower-mates. Steve invites him to spar more and more often and then keeps inviting him over for food after, and sometimes they just share a meal and talk but sometimes they watch movies together, and there was one time they got into a friendly-wrestling-match-turned-tickle-fight that had Peter pink-cheeked and hiding another boner with a throw pillow from the couch for the next forty-five minutes.

Point is: they keep spending time together. And Peter, who shot down the idea of casually cold-calling Mr. Rogers because he wasn’t really comfortable like that with the man, steadily grows comfortable with Steve. 

(One evening, Steve makes him dinner after scolding him for forgetting so often ~~and suffering the resulting blood-sugar-crash-induced binges late at night as a result~~ and Peter doesn’t even question himself before retorting. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks Dad.”

“Ugh, I don’t like that one.”

“Okay, _Daddy.”_

_“Daddy?”_

“Well, you are basically the father of American patriotism after all.”)

It helps that Steve is affectionate. 

Verbally, emotionally, physically, he’s… soft. He laughs loudly but speaks softly and soothingly, and his touches are always firm but gentle, and he has a kind smile, and he never misses an opportunity to give Peter praise or reassurance, or contact or intimacy.

Peter nearly spills the water they’re boiling for pasta and Steve plasters himself to the younger’s back to steady him, assuring him it’s totally fine. Peter does well on a mission and Steve tells him so, showering him in positive affirmations that don’t seem to lose their impact no matter how many times he says them, and rewarding the younger with ice cream. 

Even the first time Steve hugs him (excluding a few friendly one-armed side hugs in the past) is done easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and partnered with comfort. Peter knocks his knee against the coffee table and sends their card tower toppling to the ground, and Steve catches him as he scrambles to save it in mortified awkwardness, pulling him into a tight hug without hesitation, letting Peter hide his stupid flushed face in the older man’s solid chest and calming the embarrassment away.

Peter’s pretty sure that one hug is responsible for everything that comes after. Once he gets a taste of what it feels like to be that close to the man, not because of happenstance while sparring or on accident, but because he _wants_ to be close, it’s like he can’t get enough of it.

Suddenly he can’t bear to _not_ be glued to Steve’s side and Steve seems to have the same problem. Peter sits and stands and walks next to him everywhere they go and when he can, he cuddles right up to the man, stealing warmth and letting himself feel small and _safe_ under the soldier’s arm.

For his part, Steve can’t keep his hands off Peter, always having an arm around his shoulders or hand resting on his waist, absently rubbing Peter’s back or playing with his hair. Peter melts into all of the touches and can’t even be embarrassed about seeking them out when Steve is so happy to provide them, perfectly happy to accept Peter’s clinginess in return. 

A while after physical intimacy becomes a regular part of their lives, the pet names begin, too.

The first time happens when Peter gets stuck in his own webs. He’s testing out new combinations in the gym and they backfire spectacularly, resulting in him hanging in a tangled mess of his own spider “silk” and struggling to get out. He’s flustered beyond belief, especially because his screwup occurs in front of Steve, to the point that he can’t even finish his flustered sentences of how annoying his position is while furiously trying to escape. 

Steve takes pity on him and comes to get him down. Peter won’t stop moving and trying to get himself out, refusing to believe he needs the help even as the other tries to provide it, and eventually he hears Steve’s placating, “Okay, okay, Pete, just- hang on. Hold still, baby, I’ll get you- there you go. I’ve got you,” that has him freezing. Without his struggles, Steve manages to untangle him and grabs him by the waist, two big hands around his middle helping him down to the floor. 

Rarely has Peter ever been so glad to be wearing his suit, because he flushes head to toe. He would have run away to die of humiliation in peace if Steve didn’t convince him to keep testing web combinations (albeit less recklessly). 

Since then, Steve has kept calling him “baby”, among other endearments. 

(‘Baby’ is Peter’s favorite, though.)

At some point the thing between them not only becomes obvious enough that Peter can’t ignore or deny there _is_ a ‘thing’, but it becomes _shameless._ Which is a lot for Peter. 

He doesn’t even find excuses to snuggle with Steve on the couch or jump on him for surprise piggyback rides. He just does it. Steve doesn’t make up any other logical reasons why he has to hold Peter’s hand, he just holds Peter’s hand whenever he wants to, whether they’re alone or around other Avengers or walking or sitting next to each other. 

Peter stops by Steve’s floor one day and finds the man sleeping on his couch, and the younger just crawls on next to him. He lays his head on Steve’s chest and passes out beside him, and wakes up on top of him with their legs intertwined and Steve’s arms around him. 

(And yeah, Peter gets himself off thinking about Steve working out and manhandling him and the low voice he uses to talk to the younger when they’re pressed close together. Eventually, he’s shameless about that, too.)

When they first started hanging out, if Peter couldn’t reach something, Steve would get it for him. Now he’ll wrap his hands around Peter’s waist and lift the smaller up like he’s nothing so Peter can grab it himself. If Peter sits on the counter while they make lunch together, Steve will come stand between his legs and pet his arms and hair and listen to Peter ramble about whatever he wants. 

Peter calls Steve when he’s hungry and asks the soldier to bring him food, and the man delivers, and Peter is so happy about having food and so comfortable with the other that he kisses Steve’s cheek as a thank-you. Steve doesn’t bat an eye and plants a kiss to the top of Peter’s head as a you’re-welcome. 

Peter starts calling Steve constantly when they aren’t together—which happens less and less often as the weeks go by. He calls the older when he’s happy and when he’s sad and after Spider-Man drops off a kid who was having an asthma attack at the hospital. Peter calls Steve when he has nightmares and when he sees a new movie that he wants to rave about and when he needs advice on what to put in his smoothie. Peter calls Steve when he just wants to hear the man’s voice. 

And Steve always answers, no matter the time of day or where either of them are. (It helps that Peter avoids calling him when he knows Steve _can’t_ answer.) 

Months pass by and it gets to the point where there’s really no room left to wonder what they feel about each other, only a matter of who is going to say it first and what are they going to do about it. 

* * *

That question is answered one evening while Steve is away with Mr. Stark at a conference. 

It’s frigid cold out but warm inside the tower (what with its elite HVAC system) and Peter himself is _hot._

He’s sweating and his skin is tingling and sensitive and hot to the touch when he runs one hand over his chest and stomach. With his other, he has two fingers inside himself up to the second knuckle. He’s lying naked on his front with his hips in the air and his face buried in a pillow. Even though hasn’t lived in a thin-walled dorm room or apartment in months and the nearest living people are an entire level above or below him at the closest—old habits die hard and he bites the pillow to stifle his quiet moans. There’s a little bottle of lube next to him that he used to slick up his fingers and now he slides them slowly in and out of himself, face red from the wet sounds they make. 

It feels good even though he avoids his most sensitive spots, trying to focus on opening himself up for the vibrator he plans on using. His fingers are limber and easy to adjust to for the progressive stretching. He’s taking it slow and easy and it _sucks._

The worst part is that it would also suck if he was moving faster. And it would suck if he was just jerking off. Even laying in his bed, not touching himself at all, and just trying to sleep would suck. Because he’s alone. It’s just him and his own hands and his big empty bed and it _sucks._

Steve has spoiled him rotten with attention and company, with touches and praises, and while it’s pure bliss during the time they spend together, it means that Peter’s alone-time is pure hell. 

He groans in frustration and grabs the sheets harshly to let off some steam. He feels restless and lonely and starved for those firm, warm hands that he just knows would make him feel incredible. He wants to hear a deep voice speaking quietly to him and telling him what to do, telling him sweet things as someone else’s body sets him on fire. The only thing he does hear is his own labored breathing.

Touching himself used to be fine, even preferable. He knows what he likes best. But in the absence of _Steve_ it just feels pathetic and unsatisfying. He knows exactly what’s coming and when and how and he’s in total control, and typically that would be comforting but now it’s dull and mediocre, and he wishes someone else was there to heighten the sensations and excite him. 

This thing with Steve has gone on for months. Peter thinks he’s been pretty cool about it so far but right now? He’s just horny and impatient and he misses Steve. He wishes the other man was at the tower and not on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. He wishes the other would come into his room and fuck him into the mattress and then cuddle him to sleep with lots of kisses. That’s all Peter wants right now.

What he’s got instead is his own two fingers preparing himself for medical grade silicone on a too-big bed and a desperate need for more. 

Or, well. The line between ‘want’ and ‘need’ is blurred. But he _does_ have permission to call Steve for either, regardless. 

So before he can talk himself out of it, he fumbles for his phone, pulls up the “favorites” page of his contacts and clicks on Steve’s name. The older man is unfortunately still thousands of miles away, but he should be back at a hotel room and relaxing after a day of meetings, if not already sleeping. 

(Peter hopes he isn’t waking him but god, he hopes Steve answers.)

The ringtone stops as their call connects and Peter puts his phone on speaker, dropping it next to himself on the mattress and slipping his hand back between his chest and the comforter.

“Hey, Peter. What’s up?” 

God, Peter was texting the soldier earlier and called him the day before but he really missed Steve’s voice. He feels his cock twitch hearing it.

All he can do is whine, “Steeeve,” and squeeze his eyes shut. 

“What’s wrong?” The man asks. Peter takes a deep breath. 

“You said I could call you whenever I need you.”

Steve _mhm'_ s in affirmation. “Yes, I did. I meant it. What do you need?” Something in Peter cracks and crumbles at that, and all his nerves and self control disappear. 

“Need you to fuck me,” he pleads. He savors the sharp breath he hears Steve take. 

“You want that?” 

“So bad, fuck-” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wish you were with me right now, wish you could be the one doing this...” Peter breathes unevenly, pulling his fingers out just enough to introduce a third and digging his other hand’s fingertips into his stomach. 

“Doing what?” Steve prods.

“T-Touching me.”

“Touching you where? You’ve gotta be more specific than that.” There’s a shuffling sound on the other end of the line that Peter wants to pay more attention to, but he wants to focus on the feeling of three fingers sliding inside him even more.

“M-my.. my chest, and my dick, and- in my-”

“In your cute ass?”

_Fuck._ “Y-yes,” he sighs as he slowly pumps the three fingers in and out. Steve’s taking this sudden dirty phone call in stride and just listening to his voice is enough to get Peter hotter. The vibrator isn’t much thicker than what he’s currently got inside himself and it would only go five inches deep even if he pushed it all the way in, so as soon as he’s adjusted, he’s going to use it. 

“Do you have something inside you right now?” Steve asks. Peter groans a confirmation. “Tell me,” the older man gently requests. It makes precome bead at the tip of Peter’s length.

“My fingers.” He’s already short of breath.

“How many?”

“Th-three…” 

“Mm… but your hands are so small, baby. Is three enough for you?” Steve’s tone is light, he croons the words like he’s talking to a child, and it probably shouldn’t turn Peter on even more but it does. He nearly abandons his plan for the vibrator in favor of jerking off asap. 

“Uh-huh.” Peter’s voice is so stupidly high with arousal it sounds more like he’s imitating a woman than responding as himself. 

“Are you fucking yourself on your little fingers, then?” _Son of a— that’s hot._

“I’m s-stretching,” the younger explains. He scissors and separates his fingers faster than he normally would. He wants to get to the part where he’s beside himself with pleasure, like, yesterday. 

“Oh yeah? What for?”

“For a- I have a-” His face burns. 

“What do you have, Petey? What are you going to use to make yourself come?” Steve sounds like he’s enjoying himself at Peter’s desperate expense, but Peter is too turned on by it to care.

“It’s a-” _goddamn,_ “-a vibrator. I just gotta stretch before I can… before I can use it.”

“Making sure you’re ready before you play with your toy? What a good boy.” Steve all but whispers. 

Peter only whines again and decides that he can’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out as carefully as he can and sits back on his legs, hands quivering as he unsteadily tries to lube up the vibrator. The snap of the cap of the bottle is probably what alerts Steve to what he’s doing. 

“Baby.” He tries for Peter’s attention. He gets it. (Lord, he’s always got it.)

“Y-yeah?”

“Will you tell me what you’re doing? I want to know,” Steve says. It’s as if speaking quietly only makes his voice deeper and more sensual and Peter wishes the older man would talk that way forever. Or at least until he comes. 

“I-I’m getting it, um, I’m putting lube on it now.”

“Do you have enough?” 

Peter has to take a second just to breathe so he doesn’t actually explode. He’s not even sure if he’s tightly squeezing the toy in an attempt to calm himself or if he’s holding it so loosely it might fall out of his hands. His body feels so ungrounded, bones hollow like a bird, he can’t tell. He’s trembling. “I think so.” 

“Good. Are you wearing anything?” 

“No, I’m not,” Peter nearly stutters. Steve practically purrs at that. 

“Pretty boy. What’s it like?” 

“What?”

“Your toy, baby. What does it look like?”

“Smooth. Just, um, plain smooth and blue.” Peter responds. It’s a pale, baby blue and only phallic in the sense that it’s a long cylindrical shape, thin enough to be insertable with rounded ends. It’s the first one he ever got (and remains the only one he has) and he wasn’t ready for all the realistic dick shapes and textures or anything when he bought it, so it’s simple. _But damn if it’s not effective._

“Hm. And how big is it, Pete?” 

“It’s,” Peter swallows thickly, “It’s just a little thicker than my three fingers. And it’s a little longer than five. Um, inches. I could use up to f-five.” Steve hums thoughtfully at that. It’s a good sound that Peter likes very much.

“How much are you going to put inside you? How full do you want to be?”

Peter whimpers at that and closes the lube. He feels lightheaded as he drops back down onto the bed, head against the pillow and turned to face his phone. “I-I don’t know, maybe all of it?”

“Have you taken all of it before?” 

Peter only hums in confirmation. 

“Is that the most you’ve ever had inside you? Or have you used anything bigger, fucked anyone bigger?” If Steve keeps talking to Peter like that, and with such a soft, low tone, Peter might actually come just from listening to him. 

“I think it’s the biggest,” he moans as he prods his well-lubed opening with the tip. The angle and size have him arching his back as much as he can and it doesn’t hurt (thank you, spider bite, for the flexibility) but he knows it would feel so much better if Steve was doing it. “I don’t have anything bigger, and- and I don’t think I’ve ever had sex with anyone bigger, either.” 

“Are you putting it in now?” 

“Yes,” Peter gasps. 

“Don’t turn it on yet, okay?” Steve requests. Peter nods dumbly before realizing the older man can’t see it and audibly agrees. “Yeah… I bet any kids you slept with in college, maybe high school, weren’t all that big. Nothing wrong with that, of course.”

Peter makes another sound to agree. He’d only had sex a couple times as a teenager and even fewer while getting his degree, but even then, the biggest cock he’d ever taken had to be the same size or smaller than they toy he’s using now. 

“But they were just kids, baby. Just boys. You were just figuring it out. God, I wish I was with you right now. I’d show you how a man does it. I’d make you feel so good, you wouldn’t remember your own name,” Steve groans. Peter keens at his words and starts to slide the vibrator inside. It’s slick and a little cold but he’s prepared and has plenty of practice getting it in. The feel of it is fucking incredible, firm and spreading him open.

“When did you get your toy, Petey? Was this a recent development?” The older man continues. 

“N-no, I ordered it when I was a s-sophomore. Had it in my dorm,” Peter answers. He’s pushing it in and pulling it out, venturing a little deeper each time, and he figures it’s about half way in at this point. The slide is smooth and makes his head spin and his cock twitch. He’d planned not to ruin his sheets but he doesn’t care anymore, knowing he’s dribbling pre onto the bed below him. 

“Bet you kept it hidden real well. Didn’t want anyone else to find your toy, right?” 

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, voice gone airy and high again as he brushes his prostate on another steady push in. A shot of pleasure rolls through him from it and he tries to aim for the spot.

“Are you touching yourself anywhere else?” Steve asks. Absently, the younger thinks he was supposed to be describing what he’s doing, not just answering questions, but the soldier’s done nothing but hit the nail on the head with his questions thus far, so. 

“I was. Touching my chest and my stomach, but I’m just- just putting it in now,” he explains. He clings to his pillow and steadily guides the toy deeper inside him. 

“I can imagine it,” the other says so, _so_ tenderly. “I can see it in my mind. I know you must look so cute and pretty right now, all strung up and sweet and wanting to make yourself feel good.” 

Peter whines again at the compliments, then _finally_ gets the vibrator fully inside himself. It fills him up and he can’t imagine how full and blissfully split apart he’d feel on Steve’s cock.”Okay,” he begins, voice cracking, “I-It’s all the way in, now.” There’s a pause as Steve takes a slow breath. 

“Such a good boy, taking it all so well. You’re perfect, Petey. Now turn it on.” 

Peter does. 

The default setting is the lowest but it still makes him jolt, zapping him in his core as he goes from feeling full to feeling something buzzing alive inside him. He moans at Steve’s praise and the sound turns into a cry that’s almost a squeal when the vibrator comes to life, and he blushes furiously at the noise. His hands abandon the toy—seated securely inside him—to grab at the sheets at his sides. 

“Steve- _Steeeve,”_ he wails half into the pillow. 

“Feel good, baby?” Steve sounds strained, Peter realizes. 

_“Yeah-_ please, fuck-”

“Is there more than one setting?” The soldier asks. There’s more shuffling sounds. 

“It has f-five,” Peter gasps out. He’s rocking back and forth on the bed, starting to spread his legs out and stretch them back and lower himself down to try to grind on the mattress, only for that to make his body squeeze the vibrator so good that the arches again, squirming and sensitive. Steve moans and- _jesus christ._ It’s the best sound Peter has ever heard in his life and he scrambles to press his thighs tightly together, feeling like he’s on edge already. 

“Have you used all five?” 

“Yes, yeah, _hhng-”_

“You sound pretty worked up, baby,” Steve croons. “Do you want a higher setting?” 

Peter whimpers and breathes _“Yes,”_ and reaches back, fumbling for a second for the button that will turn up the speed. He gets it and the vibrations increase, and he doesn’t even have to narrate to Steve. With super soldier hearing and Peter’s cry of pleasure, the man must figure it out.

_Holy shit,_ that hits Peter hard. He might’ve initiated the call to hear Steve’s voice but he didn’t think nearly as much about how Steve would be hearing _him,_ too. How the man is listening to him touch himself and get off with a toy, panting and moaning. 

“Good boy,” Steve praises. “There you go. You sound so fucking hot, Peter. I wish I was there to see it in person. Wish I could fuck you with your toy and then fuck you myself.”

“Hha, ah- I wish you were here to fuck me so bad, wish you were touching me,” the younger moans. He fists the blankets as hard as he can and falls onto his side, legs shaking. 

“Touch yourself for me,” Steve requests smoothly. There’s more shuffling sounds and Peter lets out another needy sound at the words. “Leave the toy in and touch your pretty dick for me.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Peter rolls roughly onto his back, knees bent and legs spread and back arching again at what the new position does to the vibrator in his ass. One hand grabs onto the pillow under his head and the other reaches down to wrap around his cock, grabbing tightly at the base and loosening up just a little as he pumps slowly up. Precome oozes steadily the higher his hand gets and drips down his length. 

“Fuck,” he mewls. It’s so good, his cock is burning and so hard, he wants to come so bad and the way the vibrations inside him resonate and bounce around and _just don’t quit_ is driving him crazy. 

“That’s it. Take it nice and slow, don’t rush it. Just let yourself feel good. You have a free hand?” 

“Mhm.” His voice has gone embarrassingly high and desperate. 

“I want you to use it. Feel yourself up a little. Start at your stomach and make your way back up. Tease yourself, baby. I want to see how worked up you can get.” 

Peter obeys without a second thought. He lets go of the pillow to press down on his waist, digging the heel of his palm into his hip bone for a second just to release some tension, then flattening his hand against his lower belly and slowly dragging it up. He traces the contours of his own abs and caresses the center of his chest, then slides to the left and rubs his thumb back and forth over his nipple. It’s such a gentle, little pleasure that goes right to his cock, making him buck up into his hand and moan. 

“Ste-eve, w-want your hands on me, not mine,” he laments. Steve laughs breathlessly on the other end of the call. 

“I know, baby. I know. You won’t be able to get my hands off you after this, but you’re doing so good now. Why don’t you turn your toy up again?” 

That’s the best idea in the world. The younger does so, clicking the button once more and throwing his head back on the pillow when the higher vibrations make him arch up again and cry out. He lets out a long, wanton noise that breaks off into gasps and whimpers in quick succession, the hand jerking his cock speeds up and his other pinches his nipple. He’s never felt so hot or so horny or so _good_ from touching himself before. 

“You make the cutest sounds, Peter. You’re- christ, I’m so turned on right now. You’re always so cute and so goddamn fuckable. I’ve wanted to see you like this since that day we trained and you got hard after I pinned you down,” Steve says. Peter gapes, eyes flying open. 

First of all, Steve admitting to being turned on from talking Peter through masturbating should be obvious, but it’s just hot. And secondly:

“Y-you saw that?!” He gasps. It’s not indignant, though. It’s, god, it’s… embarrassing for sure but considering where they are now, it’s only making Peter hornier and more shameless in the sounds he lets out and how fervently he touches himself. 

“I did. And it took a lot of effort not to get you off right there in the gym. God, you poor thing, you were so worried about getting turned on and so focused on hiding it from me that you didn’t even realize I got hard from it, too.” Steve elaborates. Peter chokes on air at that and moans like he’s in pain, hand speeding up even further. He doesn’t have the coordination or control to manage his free hand anymore and goes back to grasping to the pillow with it, his back bowing up and down and hips bucking without his control as he goes barreling full-speed to the edge of orgasm. 

“I-I’m close,” he manages to gasp. Steve moans again. 

“I want to hear it. Let me hear you come, I want you to come with that toy inside you. Speed up your hand a little more and get yourself there, Petey.” 

The younger does, the glide of his hand quick and slick with the pre his cock has been drooling, toes curling and calves and thighs flexing and tensing as he gets closer and closer from the feel of his own grip and the relentless vibrations inside him, turning his brain to mush. “I’m gonna come-” he rushes out. 

“Do it. Come, baby, come for me.” 

That’s all it takes to push him over. Peter comes hard, with a sudden cry torn from deep inside his body, his stomach clenching and eyes rolling back, arching up. Everything tenses and he stops breathing, feeling his blood rushing and face burning and body melting. He comes in ropes over his stomach and chest and hand, not stopping pumping his hand until he’s over the crest of pleasure and finished coming down. 

Then it’s a scramble for him to turn off the vibrator as it draws overstimulated whimpers from him. He doesn’t even bother taking it out yet, just slumping back in relief once the sensations stop and he can calm himself. Steve doesn’t say anything for a while and Peter is content to just breathe, temporarily unbothered by the come on his torso or the sweat cooling on his skin. After letting Peter bask in the afterglow for a while, Steve speaks up again. 

“You alright, baby?” 

Peter hums. “Yeah, better than alright.” Steve sighs. 

“How do you feel?” 

A little wet laugh escapes Peter as he smiles to himself. He slowly pulls the toy out and leaves it on he bed (the sheets are already dirty, what's a little lube), then runs the hand that isn’t covered in come through his hair as he answers, “Good, really good. But I still wish you were here.” There’s silence from the other end of the line for a moment before Steve takes a slow breath and speaks very quietly. 

“What would you do now, if I was?” 

For a second Peter thinks they’re going to do it all again, and suddenly he’s not tired at all. He’s got an enhanced libido to go with the rest of his mutated body, and, well. It’s Steve. The younger man could probably get hard again in ten seconds flat just from listening to the other talk even if he wasn’t enhanced. So he answers very honestly. 

“I’d ask you to fuck me.” 

The phone call ends abruptly with a click. Before Peter can even start to panic or wonder why, he hears a knock on his bedroom door. His spidey sense stopped going off around a lot more people than just May and some of his friends (and Mr. Stark) since moving in with the Avengers, and he was a little distracted in his post-orgasm state, so logically it’s not impossible for someone to sneak up on him. That doesn’t mean he isn’t shocked it happened. But then his spider sense does go off—not from the threat of danger, but in excitement. 

He sits up and slides off his bed, taking the towel he’d left for himself and quickly, haphazardly wiping the come off his body, then pulling on his boxers just in case. He tip-toes up to his door and opens it slowly. 

Steve is there. He’s there, in the tower, on Peter’s floor, outside Peter’s bedroom. The younger wants to ask when he got back and why he got back early and what happened, and when he snuck onto Peter’s floor, but he doesn’t actually care right now. Because Steve is standing in front of him in his stupidly sexy Captain America suit and looking down at him with his unbelievably pretty, kind eyes and a look that makes Peter’s knees weak, regardless of the climax that had just wracked its way through him.

For a second, neither says anything. Then Steve leans down, first two fingers slipping under Peter’s chin and lifting it a little, giving him a tiny smile and opening his mouth.

“Then ask.” 

Peter does not ask. He doesn’t say anything else at all. He just lunges for the man, reaching up and throwing his arms around Steve’s neck, tugging their bodies together, arching into the older to meet Steve’s hips with his and grind his thinly clothed dick against Steve’s very apparent, kevlar-clad erection, and drags him into a filthy kiss.

Steve meets him there. One big hand makes a home on Peter’s much smaller waist, like that’s exactly where it’s always meant to be, and he steps forward, walking Peter back into his bedroom and closing the door behind them.


End file.
